


The Edge of the World

by servecobwebheadaches



Series: Heliocentric [5]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, It Gets Better, M/M, Suicide Attempt, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:19:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan and Brendon had been married for years, and Brendon was clueless when it came to Ryan's depression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Edge of the World

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide attempt.

Brendon had finally fallen asleep when Ryan had nestled his face into Brendon's neck, arms around his waist.  Ryan's presence was comfortably warm, and the brush of Ryan's eyelashes on Brendon's neck was soothing.  It all somehow made it just so Brendon could feel the tug of sleep,  _ and _ give in to the temptation, not just lay restlessly like he had been for the past couple nights.

 

Although he did still dream, of course, nothing would help him to escape that.  He dreamt of not being able to hold anything; everything tangible slipping through his fingers as if it were water, and he just grew more and more frantic with trying to keep a grip on something.

 

When he woke up, he naturally wanted to hold onto Ryan tighter, but Ryan wasn't in bed.  He let out an unsettled breath from the emotion building up in him.  The spot where Ryan had been laying was still warm, the room was still dark, and Brendon rolled over to check the time—only two in the morning.  He also saw light seeping through the crack underneath the bathroom door, providing Brendon some relief that Ryan would return to him in a few minutes.

 

He waited a few moments of trying to fall back asleep, before giving into the reality that he couldn't, at least not without Ryan with him.  Brendon stared at the light under the bathroom door, and checked his phone again.  It wasn't just Brendon's imagination that a portion of time had passed—he'd been awake for fifteen minutes, and Ryan had been gone longer than that.  His lips pursed with the tad bit of concern in his thoughts for Ryan, so he untangled himself from the blankets and walked to the bathroom door.

 

With a single knuckle, he knocked a few times.  “Ryan?  You doing okay?”

 

Brendon couldn't help the swoop of fear in his stomach when there was no response, only silence.  No water running, no signs of movement, just the white light from the cracks.  He didn't hesitate to push the door open, not giving himself time to prepare for what could be behind the door.

 

Ryan's wide, round eyes were the first thing Brendon saw, then, the bright reflection of a metal blade; between Ryan's slender fingers and thumb, inches from his tattooed wrist.  The blade was sharp, new, and shaking, closer to Ryan's skin.  His thin legs were curled to his chest, as he sat in the corner of the shower, staring up at Brendon in the doorway.

 

Brendon's heart started racing, and he still had one hand on the doorknob behind him.  He was frozen in place, brain clogged with thoughts and refusing to accept the worst.  Aware of each other's presence, the air seemed to be holding electrical wires, buzzing and ready to damage the figures in the room.  Or maybe it was just the spots in Brendon's eyes from the shock of what he was seeing.

 

A breath hitch.  “Brendon.”  A choke.  “I'm sorry.”  And Ryan was crying.  Not sobbing, just letting tears fall from his eyes.  Ryan's eyes dropped from Brendon's, back to his hands.  He straightened his legs, breaths shaking, and Brendon knew what was happening, hitting him like an electric shock.

 

Ryan was about to slit his wrists, right in front of Brendon's eyes.

 

Brendon tripped in his rush, holding the shower wall, dropping to his knees in front of him.  There was no hesitation, just a complete desperation to save Ryan—save him.  Brendon took the razor blade from between Ryan's fingertips, tossed it somewhere—his brain was hazy, no time for thought of something like putting the blade somewhere safe—and cut his palm slightly in the process.  His fingers curled around both of Ryan's wrists, tight.  In the adrenaline rush, he pulled Ryan into his arms, carrying him out of the room.  Ryan was frozen, trembling like a leaf against Brendon's chest.  Brendon didn't know what he was doing, taking Ryan out into the living room, turning on a light with his elbow because he didn't want to to put Ryan down.

 

He was vaguely aware of tears dripping off his jaw, and his own cracking voice—the words toppled out too fast.  “Oh my god, baby, baby, fuck—”.  He sunk into the couch, Ryan's legs across his as Brendon held him.  Brendon took Ryan's wrists again, this time examining for any cuts, and closing his eyes with a sigh when there weren't any, nothing but pale skin and tattoos.

 

Brendon could hear his own pulse, because, Ryan, his Ryan, could've just died, could've taken his own life, if Brendon hadn't woken up, if Brendon hadn't been home.  He was still speaking out loud, not realizing it.  “I can't lose you, Ryan, I can't, I can't,” Brendon cried.  “What were you  _ thinking _ ?”

 

“I'm sorry,” Ryan said, voice flat.

 

“I love you so much,” Brendon said, his grip on Ryan white-knuckled.

 

Ryan's body heat, his trembling, the heave of his breath, all of it was making shivers go up Brendon's spine.  But there was heavy uncomfort and pain and disconcertment inside Brendon, at Ryan's short words.

 

“What were you doing?” Brendon whispered, looking into Ryan's glistened eyes.

 

“You know what I was doing,” Ryan mumbled.

 

“Why, baby, why?”

 

Ryan looked pained, like he was going to be sick with embarrassment.  “The thoughts won't go away, B.  It's too much.”

 

“What thoughts, Ryan?”  The flat of Brendon's thumb had found the pulse point on Ryan's wrist, feeling the beat, making sure it was really there.

 

“It's so much, I—I'm such a fuck up, I can't even make things better for you, I can't do anything good, not even ending it.”

 

“No, no, you're wrong, you're so wrong.  You're my everything, you complete me.  You can't hurt yourself, you can't take yourself away from me, Ryan, I would never be the same.  I love, love you.”

 

“I don't deserve to be with you, I don’t deserve to live, I'm not worth this life I have—I deserve to be dead.”

 

“No, you have to live, I couldn't live without you.  I need you.”

 

Ryan shook his head, squirmed in Brendon's arms a little bit, but Brendon was unwilling to let go.  He was afraid to let Ryan out of his arms ever again, because he really needed Ryan there.  Brendon wrapped him in a blanket, and Ryan cried and cried, cheeks irritated pink.  “I'm sorry I can never make you happy,” Ryan choked, and Brendon's heart broke all over again.

 

“You always make me happy, always—”  _ How could Ryan not see that? _  “—nothing makes me feel as fucking great as you do.  Oh, lover, oh, please believe me.”

 

“I c-can't.  I'm-mm sorry,” Ryan said once more.

 

Brendon bit his lip, held Ryan while he cried.  He kept telling Ryan he loved him, frantically, like he was afraid it was the last time he would get to tell Ryan, even if Ryan didn't believe him, even if Ryan didn't say it back.

 

“You should have better than me, someone better, and you could have that if I was dead.  You deserve it.  I'm just tying you down.”

 

“No, of course you're not.  You're perfect for me.  I don't want anyone else, nothing could be better.  I married you for a reason.”

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Brendon's thoughts didn't wander much from his worry for Ryan's safety after that.  He had to ignore Ryan's protests and call a therapist, get Ryan in, because Ryan needed help.  Brendon couldn't just watch his husband live in a steady depression.

 

“Brendon, I don't need to talk to anyone.  You're all I need for this, if you're willing to talk to me, then you just help me so much,” Ryan claimed.

 

Brendon clenched his jaw, faintly angry at Ryan lying to him.  He couldn't say anything, afraid of Ryan's fragile emotions.

 

Ryan always drove the car, one hundred percent of the time, when he was going somewhere with Brendon.  But somehow, on the way to the therapist, Brendon was behind the wheel, Ryan glancing at him every now and then from the passenger seat.

 

Within a month of sessions, Ryan was officially diagnosed with depression, prescribed anti-depressants.  The bottle sat unopened on their bathroom counter for two weeks, until Ryan snapped again.  Brendon found him curled up on the ground in the corner of their bedroom, fingers tugging at his hair.  Brendon exhaled and sat next to him, trying to remain calm himself.  “What is it?” Brendon asked softly.

 

“I can't get the thoughts to go away,” Ryan said.  He was still pulling his own hair, rocking back and forth slightly, in hysterics.

 

Brendon tried to remain calm to balance it out with Ryan.  He reached up to Ryan's scalp, with the intention of gently taking Ryan's hands away, so he didn't cause himself any pain.  Ryan flinched, leaning away from Brendon the second Brendon's fingers came in contact with his skin.

 

That stung Brendon even more.

 

“I want it to be over, I want it to be over,” Ryan repeated.  “I want to escape my own head, I want—” He looked into Brendon's eyes, looked scared and helpless underneath the tear stains, and Brendon wanted to kiss the tears away, wanted to kiss Ryan's thoughts away.

 

“I'm not going to let you do anything to yourself, okay?” Brendon said slowly.

 

“I'm so fucking exhausted,” Ryan sobbed.

 

“You should sleep.  That sounds nice, yeah?  You can sleep and you won't have to think about any of this.  I'll keep you warm.”

 

As if on cue, Ryan shivered.  Brendon stood up, and held out a hand to help Ryan up.  Ryan rejected the offer, instead pushing himself up the wall.  He was shaking, steps reluctant and not very balanced.  Brendon stretched an arm out, the invitation to wrap it around Ryan's waist and support him to bed.  Ryan resisted at first, but gave in to Brendon touching him.  Brendon remembered Ryan getting stressed and wanting the physical contact from Brendon—Brendon working the knots out of Ryan's neck and shoulders with his fingers, Brendon washing his hair, Brendon holding his hand all the time.  Now, when Ryan was at his worst mental state, he seemed to not even really want Brendon near him.  Brendon was hurt, underlying his worry for Ryan.  He couldn't control that hurt, because he still needed Ryan, too, needed to know he was still there, and Brendon always was a touchy person.

 

Brendon felt like he was supposed to be able to calm Ryan.

 

The next morning, when Ryan had slept away the most intense of his thoughts, Brendon coaxed him into taking a first dose of pills.  Ryan didn't handle it too well, stiffly saying he felt like a failure, pathetic that he even had to do such a thing.  Brendon kissed his neck and told him he was so strong, nobody knew the hell he went through, and the pills were only going to help him.

 

Ryan warily took them everyday.  “Just for you, Brendon,” he said quietly.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Both Ryan and Brendon were asleep, during the night, which was a rare case for the two of them.  Brendon was dreaming, which was the drawback of sleep, what started his sleeping problems in the first place.  The nightmares never ended.

 

_ If Brendon had been too late, if he had woken up in the morning time and there was blood everywhere, his Ryan slumped against the shower wall, cold and pale and covered in blood, not breathing and not moving, eyes closed to never reopen.  If Ryan's blood kept slipping from the gashes in his wrists, down Brendon's body from where Brendon cried over him.  If Ryan had killed himself before Brendon could stop him. _

 

Brendon woke up, already crying before he was fully conscious.  Ryan was still asleep next to him, but woke up as Brendon's sobbing became audible.  “Hey, hey,” Ryan said, clearing his throat.  Brendon felt a tug in his stomach, a different tightening in his throat at Ryan's voice.  “Did you fall asleep?” Ryan asked.

 

“Yeah,” Brendon winced.

 

“You're awake now.  It was just a dream, it wasn't real,” Ryan soothed, with the best of his abilities.  Ryan's voice always used to be enough to ease Brendon out of his nightmares, but not that night.

 

“But it was,” Brendon said.  “It is real.”

 

“Sh, sh, my love.  You had a nightmare.  It's over now.  It wasn't real life.”

 

Brendon couldn't resist throwing his arms around Ryan, pressing his nose into Ryan's neck, taking in his scent.  “There, it's okay now,” Ryan said, stroking the distance between Brendon's shoulder blades.

 

“Not really,” Brendon sniffled.  “I have to keep you safe, Ryan, I can't let you go.  I'm so scared you're gonna hurt yourself.  What will I do?”

 

“Oh, is that what you were dreaming about?” Ryan asked.  Brendon nodded against Ryan's skin.  “I'm trying to get better.”

 

“Promise me again,” Brendon started, before his breath hitched, “promise me again that you'll never leave me.”

 

Ryan paused, comprehending what Brendon meant by it, and sighed.  “I'm not going anywhere.  You're all I need to live for.  I will never leave you, I promise.”

 

A promise was what Brendon needed from Ryan, a word for Ryan to keep.  Brendon would be there to support Ryan whenever he showed that he was going through something rough, but Brendon needed to know that Ryan wouldn't give up and end it all.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Brendon was constantly worried about Ryan, even when Ryan was having a good day.  Brendon learned the signs of Ryan's depression, learned how to spot when Ryan was just covering it up.  If Ryan didn't get out of bed until later than ten, something was wrong.  If Ryan pulled away from hugs and kisses first, something was wrong.  If Ryan smiled when Brendon asked him what was going on, something was wrong.

 

It grew increasingly harder for Brendon, while Ryan wouldn't tell him he was having suicidal thoughts again, wouldn't tell him when something made his depression flare up.  Brendon just somehow had to know when he needed to be more careful around Ryan.

 

At some point, things evened out, and Ryan wasn't crying himself to sleep at night.  Brendon could see it when something was bothering Ryan, but it wasn't enough to put a halt to Ryan's life.

 

And it was at that point that Ryan stopped taking his antidepressants.  It was then that it became apparent how much they'd been helping him.  Brendon didn't know at first, but got concerned when Ryan stopped saying, “I love you,” first, or when he stopped saying it back altogether; when Brendon was getting more sleep than Ryan—and Brendon was the one with insomnia.  Ryan tensed whenever Brendon touched him, became more distant.

 

Brendon knew he had to be depressed again, and checked the pill bottle in the bathroom one morning.  It was too full—Ryan must've missed weeks.  “Ryan?  Can you come here?” He called from the bathroom.  Brendon couldn't get mad at Ryan, though he was tempted to yell at him, why he would do that to himself, stop taking the pills.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan said, and appeared in the doorway.  “What's . . .?” His eyes wandered down to the bottle in Brendon's hands.

 

Brendon shook it a little bit, listening to the pill rattle around.  “You haven't been taking these,” he simply said.

 

Ryan swallowed.  “No,” he simply said, looking into Brendon's eyes.

 

Brendon's eyebrows furrowed.  “You should be, babe—”

 

“I don't want to.”

 

“Why?  They were helping you, I know they were.”

 

Ryan shrugged, dropping his head.   “It felt like fake happiness, like I need pills for emotions.  I don't like that.”

 

“It's not fake happiness,” Brendon said, with a hidden cringe at Ryan's small voice.  “You're getting better, it's helping you.”

 

“I shouldn't be happy.  There's nothing I should be happy for.”

 

Brendon broke inside a little more.

 

“I deserve every bit of misery I get,” Ryan continued, his fingers curling around the doorframe, shaking with how tightly he was squeezing.  “I shouldn't even be with you, I should be—”

 

“Stop,” Brendon snapped, knowing Ryan was on the verge of another breakdown.  “I want you to be happy.  Isn't that enough?  You're brilliant and gorgeous and I love you.  I want you to be happy,” he said again, voice firm—stating absolute fact.

 

“Don't lie to me,” Ryan said, and let go of the doorframe.  He turned away from Brendon, leaving the room.

 

“I'm not lying to you.  I just want you to get better, to feel better.”

 

“Brendon, I'm not taking any more fucking pills.”

 

“Ryan—” Brendon kept following him through the house, not really knowing where they were going.  “—why not?”

 

“Why do you care?  It's not hurting you.”

 

“Because I care about  _ you _ , and it hurts me to see you in pain.  I can always tell, and it's been really bad lately, hasn't it?”

 

“How do you know?” Ryan asked, more like a statement.  His eyes were too dark.  “I haven't tried to kill myself again, I haven't done anything to hurt myself.”

 

“You're detached.  I spend so much time with you, it's really easy to see when your demeanor changes.  You fake sleep a lot.  I know you're awake.  You have a hard time holding conversation with me.  You don't say you love me.  It seems like . . . you don't really want me near you much?”

 

“Great.  Sorry for fucking up our relationship, too.”

 

“That's not what I'm say—”

 

“Give me those pills,” Ryan said, leaning back against the kitchen counter.  They'd stopped there.  Brendon was still holding the pill bottle loosely.  He reluctantly dropped the bottle in Ryan's waiting palm, watching Ryan with a small hope.

 

Ryan unscrewed the cap, leaned over the sink, and poured the entire bottle of pills down the drain.

 

Brendon groaned in frustration, and closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Brendon couldn't force pills down Ryan's throat, and found it useless to push him after a few days.

 

“How're you feeling?” Brendon would ask, reaching for Ryan's hand.

 

Ryan would pull away and say, “I'm fine.”

 

Brendon often had to force tears out of his eyes.  He felt that he had nothing to cry over, not compared to Ryan, but he was so hurt, having a hard time coping with Ryan being so distant and uninterested in him.

 

It wasn't always completely gloomy, Ryan wasn't always numbingly sad.  He would still sometimes laugh at things Brendon said, he still slept in the same bed as Brendon, and wasn't bedridden or anything, just . . . distant.  Brendon couldn't understand it, and knew he wouldn't ever be able to fully grasp what was going on with Ryan—why he was depressed, what made him that way.  That made it even more painful for him as Ryan seemed to drift away from him.

 

Brendon tried everything.  He didn't know how much Ryan was opening up at the therapy sessions, and believed for awhile that maybe Ryan would be more comfortable talking to him.  “Will you tell me what's wrong?” Brendon asked, gently, knowing it was a delicate topic.

 

“It's not a secret or anything,” Ryan said.  “I don't have much will to live.”  Brendon looked at him, expecting more.  “It would be better if I was dead, for me, for you, for everyone.”  Maybe Brendon was too soft when it came to Ryan, but his throat felt clogged shortly after Ryan began speaking.  “I'm not good for anyone or anything.  I don't really see the point.”  Ryan seemed neutral about it, like it wasn't that big of a deal.  Brendon was more unnerved by that than if Ryan had been crying.

 

Ryan was set on believing that, had somehow gotten that into his head.  Brendon could only try his best to convince Ryan that it wasn't true.  “I need you, Ryan,” Brendon said, with a nod, looking in Ryan's eyes.

 

“Well, I'm not dead, am I?” Ryan said coldly.

 

Brendon flinched.  “I just want to know what's going on with you.”

 

“You already do.”

 

Brendon was thankful Ryan hadn't tried anything, but terribly missed being close to Ryan.  Ryan didn't want to be touched, but Brendon craved it.

 

“Brendon, what else do you want me to say?  This is how I feel.  It's normal.  I'm fine.”

 

Yet Brendon just felt like everything kept getting worse, the longer Ryan was like that.  What if Ryan just didn't love him anymore?  What if it was a personal thing towards Brendon?  Brendon started blaming himself.

 

Ryan went from depressed to numb to agitated—snapping with frustration and then giving up to tears.  Most of the time, it was just Ryan's thoughts getting to him, and there was nothing Brendon could do about it.

 

Everyone always suggested Ryan write his thoughts, keep a journal and whatnot.  He finally started doing so, cracking open one of the countless notebooks various people had given him.  Brendon knew he had his writing rituals; Ryan wrote while listening to other music, liked to have a darker space, and always, always, wrote in pencil.  Brendon let him be, left him alone in their room, and tried to calm his worry that Ryan was going to do something to hurt himself if he wasn't there.

 

Ryan started writing more and more often, and Brendon rarely saw him.  It wasn't long before the notebook was filled with Ryan's writing, and he started in on a new one.  Brendon had enough respect for Ryan's privacy to not read through the whole thing while Ryan was sleeping, but was still curious.

 

Ryan sat propped up against the headboard of the bed, under the covers, notebook in lap.  His glasses were slightly crooked, hair wavy and unruled.  Brendon stood in the doorway and watched him for a few moments, not really wanting to interrupt.  It was late at night, and Brendon knew he should crawl in bed and at least try to get some sleep, but he wanted to peacefully look at Ryan for a few moments.  Brendon still felt gravitated towards Ryan whenever he looked at him.  He was drawn to him, and realized with a rush how in love he still was with Ryan, after all those years.  He crawled on the bed—Ryan didn't even look up at him—and curled up next to Ryan.  Brendon tangled his fingers in Ryan's hair, and kissed his neck twice.  Ryan seemed surprised, and looked over at Brendon, who rested against Ryan's body.

 

Brendon thought he had a right to do so.

 

Ryan snapped his notebook shut and let it lay closed in his lap.  “What're you writing?” Brendon asked, not a note of seriousness in his voice.

 

Ryan shrugged.  “A journal, I guess.”

 

“That's nice.  Are you done for tonight?”

 

“No, I don't know.”

 

“You can keep going, I don't care.”

 

Ryan's fingers twitched over the cover and the binding.  Brendon put his chin on Ryan's shoulder.  “Maybe I will.”

 

Ryan wasn't pushing him away, so it was progress, Brendon considered.  He also considered moving himself to the other side of the bed, tell Ryan he wouldn't bother him, but he felt the need to be near Ryan—while he could.  The angles of Ryan's body were so familiar, so perfect for Brendon.  “I won't hold your right hand so you can have your pencil or whatever,” Brendon said, encouragingly.

 

“It's kind of hard for me to write with someone watching me like a hawk, Brendon.”

 

So maybe the moment was ruined.  Brendon had flashbacks of laying his head in Ryan's lap while Ryan wrote; Ryan would tap Brendon's nose with the bindings lightly, just enough to make Brendon giggle.  Brendon could be cutting Ryan's hair and Ryan would be thinking of a melody or a lyric.  He would never say that Brendon's presence was distracting him from his writing.  Something inside Brendon churned uncomfortably again, and he nuzzled his face into Ryan's neck to try to make it go away.  “I'm not trying to watch you, I just want to feel you close to me,” Brendon said, voice full of sweetness.

 

“We can cuddle before we fall asleep in a few minutes, okay?” Ryan said, but he sounded guilty, like he was just doing it because he owed it to Brendon.  Or that was what Brendon heard.  “Just—I'm gonna write until then, and I'll leave you alone to get some rest.  Don't worry about it.”

 

_ Don't worry about it. _

 

Brendon hadn't thought there was anything to worry about when it came to Ryan writing, aside from it interfering with Brendon trying to express his lasting love.  Yet at that moment, with those words from Ryan, it occurred to him—Ryan didn't want Brendon to read his writing.  The discomfort inside of Brendon exploded into downright hurt, bruising his heart and making his throat close up.  Why would Ryan be hiding things from him?  What hadn't he told Brendon, what thoughts were filling up his notebooks?  Why wouldn't Ryan tell him?

 

“You don't want me to see what you're writing . . .?”

 

Ryan cleared his throat.  “It's nothing you need to be reading.”

 

“What do you mean?  You spend days on this, more time than you spend with me, and I want to know,” Brendon said.

 

“I don't think you should.”

 

Brendon scoffed.  “Why don't you want me to know?”   _ You can tell me anything. _

 

“You already deal with me enough, you don't need to know all of my thoughts.”

 

“But I want to.  You're supposed to tell me, Ryan—”  _ How bad is it?  _ “—you trust me, don't you?”

 

“Of course I trust you.  I’d tell you anything.”

 

Brendon wanted to yank his hair out and scream, pent up frustration at everything boiling over.  “You've written nearly two notebooks full of whatever you won't tell me.  Whenever you talk to me, you give me little snippets about how you feel and I never see it coming.”

 

Ryan's eyes were too wide—light brown and innocent looking.  “I don't mean to, I—”

 

Brendon wasn't going to take it.  “I do everything I can to help you, everything I can, and you just push me away.  Don't you think you owe it to me to let me know what you're doing all day?  What you're writing about?” Brendon demanded.

 

“I owe it to you.  I owe it to you and so much more.  Here, take it.  It's fine,” Ryan scrambled, putting the notebook in Brendon's lap.

 

Brendon ignored it.  “No, this is deeper than just the journals.  You barely talk to me anymore, and I just have to figure out if you feel like shit and what I'm supposed to do to help you, all on my own, because you won't fucking tell me.  Half the time you reject whatever I try to say to help.  You won't even take pills after me  _ begging _ you to, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore!”

 

“Sorry that me almost killing myself was such an inconvenience to your system around me,” Ryan said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

“Oh, yeah, thanks for the warning with that.  You obviously didn't trust me enough to even hint at being depressed before going to fucking kill yourself.  Do you expect me to stay calm about all this?”

 

“You weren't supposed to know about it, that was the point!  I would've just died and there wouldn't be any build up to it and I wouldn't have to deal with you trying to stop me.”

 

“‘Deal with you?’” Brendon said back, voice teetering into a shout.  “You don't want to  _ deal with me _ trying to save your life?  Deal with me giving you everything, wanting nothing more than to make you happy again?  And that's just something that drags you down, that you have to deal with?”

 

Ryan stood up out of bed.  Brendon did the same.

 

“I have to live with the never-ending urge to fucking die, not you, Brendon.”  Ryan's voice remained monotone, but left its typical drawl behind, the words becoming more accentuated.  “I don't want to tell you things because I know you'll just try to save me again.  I don't need to be saved, I need to be gone.”

 

Brendon slammed his palm, flat, into the wall.  “Dammit, Ryan!  You promised me,” Brendon's voice caught, “you promised me you wouldn't leave me, that you wouldn't kill yourself.  I'm obviously going to do everything I can to stop you.”

 

“I made a promise that I can't keep, and I'm even surprised you couldn't see through that.”  Ryan was moving now, taking clothes off hangers and shoving them in a shoulder bag.

 

Brendon let that sink in for a moment, then said, “No, you're right.  I shouldn't have believed you.  Apparently I'm not enough to keep you alive, so.”  Ryan walked into the bathroom and threw a few things off the counter into his bag.  “What the hell are you doing, anyway?” Brendon asked, watching him.

 

“Packing.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Leaving, clearly.”

 

Brendon followed Ryan out of the room.  Ryan picked up his wallet somewhere along the way.  Brendon composed himself enough, with the repeating thought,  _ It's temporary, it's temporary. _  “Where are you going?”  Brendon's words were sharp.

 

“Away from you.”

 

Brendon made one last attempt to stop him.  “You made another promise to me, you know, and I think it was to yourself, too.”  Ryan was looking at him, actually listening.  “And I don't really think it's stupid of me to believe it.”

 

“What?  What is it?”

 

Brendon gulped and said, “To stay with me forever . . . Till death do us part.”

 

Ryan glared furiously at the ring-bearing hand Brendon was holding up.  “I wish we’d never met so I could've just died,” Ryan snarled, and was out the door.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

Fights were never necessarily a bad thing for Ryan and Brendon.  The conflicts were always gut wrenching, Brendon would fear the end of their relationship, but the forgiveness and the making up was the best feeling.  It made their relationship stronger because of the ability to forgive, the ability to keep loving as hard as before.  The things thrown back and forth during fights never seemed to leave any cuts after the fact, not even a bruise.

 

When Brendon hadn't seen or heard from Ryan in four months, Brendon still felt like he had gaping wounds, pouring blood, from Ryan leaving.

 

The most news Brendon had gotten was from the day after Ryan left.  Alex Greenwald had texted Brendon, “I've got Ryan staying here.  He's okay.”  And two months ago, two months after Ryan had left, Brendon met up with Spencer.

 

They had normal conversation, and Brendon was thankful Spencer didn't try to bring up what happened to his marriage.  Then Spencer simply said, “You know, I talked to Ryan the other day.”

 

Brendon looked down at his hands.  “How's he doing?”

 

“He’s alright, he's hanging in there.”

 

“That's good.  I'm glad,” Brendon replied, not wanting his voice to waver with emotion.

 

“He misses you.”

 

“Yeah, I miss him too.”

 

Spencer didn't push Brendon to call Ryan, to get him to come back.

 

Brendon was completely distraught without Ryan, worried out of his mind—worried that Ryan would never come back, worried that Ryan had found someone else, worried that Ryan had tried to kill himself again without Brendon—Brendon had to convince himself the last one wasn't true.  He would've been notified at some point if Ryan attempted suicide.  Brendon could easily say it was the worst he had ever felt in his entire life.

 

He couldn't sleep, not really, not without Ryan.  He could black out from exhaustion at random points during the day, for only a few hours, but it wasn't healthy.  At night, he hugged Ryan's pillow to his chest and tried to will himself to sleep, tried to will himself to cry so sleep would come naturally.  Neither would ever come.

 

He'd fucked up so bad, he wasn't able to forgive himself.  Ryan had to be doing better off than him, better off without him.  It was all Brendon managed to think about, and it left him trembling and emotional.  Part of it was from lack of sleep, always feeling like he was on the brink of an anxiety attack.  He could see bright colors in a pot of boiling water and a sharp reflection in a mirror seemed fuzzy and faded.

 

Sometimes, though, Brendon would have a full on anxiety attack.  Something small would trigger it, be it messing up a single note on the piano, or some memory being triggered when he saw rotting food in the fridge.  He would hyperventilate and start sobbing without tears, sinking down to sit against a wall.  In order to calm down, he would have to call someone, usually either Spencer or Zack, after dropping the phone a few times.  They would come over, make sure he ate and drank something, and sat with him until he managed to control his breathing, get a grip back on the world as it was.

 

Everyone had put the pieces together, and knew not to mention Ryan around Brendon.

 

Brendon checked his phone, and at roughly four months of him and Ryan being separated, it was their wedding anniversary.

 

With that knowledge, Brendon paced around the house, feeling ready for something, ready for anything, a new-found temptation to pick up the phone and talk to Ryan, get him back.  And somehow, Brendon ignored the thoughts of everything else, and did it.

 

He thought it would be harder than it was when Ryan picked up the phone.  Brendon's heart soared just at that, just at Ryan's voice on the other end.

 

“Hey, B,” was all Ryan said.

 

“Hey.”

 

“How're you?”

 

“Good,” Brendon lied.  “How've you been?”

 

“I'm okay.”

 

Brendon cleared his throat.  “Are you seeing anyone?” He asked, trying to sound casual.

 

“Am I—seeing anyone?  No, no, of course not,” Ryan said, with a bit of an incredulous chuckle.

 

Brendon just had to make sure, and that put him at ease a little bit.  “Well, you know, today is, um.  Today’s our anniversary.”

 

“Yes.  Yes it is.”

 

“I know it's been awhile, and I'm sorry about that, but do you maybe want to meet somewhere?  I mean, if you're not busy or anything, I just—”

 

“Yeah, no.  I’d like that.”

 

Brendon bit his lip.  “Okay, cool.”

 

“Coffee, maybe?  Or lunch, I don't know.”

 

“Uh, lunch, sure.  Meet me at the sandwich place?  If that sounds good with you,” Brendon said, still unsure.

 

“Yeah, yeah.  Give me, like, half an hour, and I'll meet you there.”

 

Brendon grinned.  “Okay.  See you, then.”  _ Love you. _

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

When they met, when Brendon walked in a small café-like place that it seemed only him and Ryan knew about, and saw Ryan for the first time in four months, the most difficult part was holding himself back from throwing himself in Ryan's arms, tackling him with kisses.  Ryan smiled at the sight of him, corners of his eyes wrinkling and lips parting.  Brendon couldn't help but allow warm happiness to overcome him, because all he wanted to do was to keep that smile on Ryan's face.  Ryan looked Brendon up and down, and his smile faded a little bit, but it was only natural.

 

“Hey, hi,” Ryan said, and stood up to pull out a chair for Brendon.  The gesture made Brendon's heart beat a little faster, and he felt young, felt like he was on his first date.

 

“Hey.  You look good,” Brendon blurted out without thinking.

 

Ryan's lips curved into a smile again.  “Thanks.”  He looked down at the table, then back up at Brendon's face.  “You always look good.”

 

It was Brendon's turn to laugh a little bit.   _ Not as perfect as you _ , was on the tip of his tongue, and he refrained.

 

“Haven't been here in a long time,” Ryan said.

 

“I haven't, either.”

 

“It's good, it's good.”

 

“I kind of forgot about it.”

 

“Me too.”

 

There was a silence, like they were born anticipating something dramatic to happen.  Brendon watched Ryan look at his hands, twist his wedding ring around; it was a habit Ryan had since he and Brendon were engaged.

 

“So, six years, huh?” Ryan said.

 

Brendon nodded.  “Six years.”

 

They didn't say anything about how fast it felt, how they feared the rest of their lives wouldn't pass as blissfully quick.  “I didn't buy you anything,” Ryan confessed.

 

“I didn't buy you anything, either.”

 

“I wasn't really sure if you'd want to see me or what, so I didn't think to prepare . . .”

 

Brendon tsked.  “I always want to see you.”

 

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck.  “I was a complete asshole to you, so it would be understandable.”

 

Brendon shrugged.  “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too.”

 

There was tension building up in Brendon's shoulders, and he felt awful for some reason.

 

“I'm really sorry,” Ryan choked.  He closed his eyes with a pained look on his face, and when he opened them, they were glistening.  “Really, really sorry.  And you've probably been expecting me to say that since you called, it's probably predictable and you might just want to brush it off, but I mean it more than I can say.  There's nothing I can do to apologize as much as I need to, because, shit, Brendon, you didn't deserve any of the hell I put you through.  I am so, so, sorry.  I should've just listened to you; you're the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and I was going to ruin it all.  I'm such an idiot.”

 

Brendon was quite taken aback, because, no, he really hadn't expected Ryan to apologize.  Brendon felt he was the one who owed it to Ryan.  “I should've been more mindful.  I really can't understand what goes on with you, and I didn't accept that, but I need to.  You didn't need me pushing you where you weren't comfortable, and I can't really blame you for leaving.”

 

“I didn't mean it,” Ryan said.  “I didn't mean what I said to you before I left.  Please tell me you know that.”

 

“It hurt me, Ryan, it did.  It hurt me so much that I didn't call for four months.  But I don't blame you.”

 

“I'm not asking you to take me back,” Ryan continued.  “That would be too much.  You've always been so good to me, so patient, and I probably ruined that.  But I need you to know that I really feel bad, and that I really do miss you.”

 

“It's not all your fault,” Brendon started, looking into Ryan's eyes.  Brendon could feel the dark bags under them, and knew Ryan had to notice.  “And I wouldn't hesitate to take you back, because I don't think anything ever ended between us.  I need to be more careful with what I say.  I'm the one who should be sorry, Ryan.  And I think I know, somewhere, that you care about me.  That you wouldn't just walk away forever.”

 

Ryan shook his head, and put a hand over Brendon's across the table, tentative.  “I can't believe I left you for so long.”  Brendon blinked up at him, and knew he looked too hopeful.

 

“I want you back.  If you're willing to come home, please do it.”

 

“Yes, yes.  I think . . . it's just clicked that it's important for me to be with you again.  For both of us.  You look exhausted, sweetheart, way more than I remember, and I wouldn't forget that detail. I know you haven't been able to sleep. You've lost weight, I can see that.  You've been forgetting to eat, haven't you?  I want to make you feel better, Brendon.”  Brendon's heart fluttered.  He needed Ryan, he did.  Ryan wouldn't let him feel miserable.  “I love you,” Ryan whispered.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“I'm so glad we’re married.”

 

“So am I.”

 

“I won't break any of our vows, ever again.  Really, it's only our sixth anniversary, I want to see us celebrate seven, ten, twenty, fifty.  I know I'll be happy with you forever.”

 

“Thank you, thank you,” Brendon said, voice brimming with emotions.  “I want to go home.”

 

“Yeah, let's go home.”

 

They hadn't even ordered drinks, and simply stood up.  Ryan held out his arms for Brendon, and Brendon hugged him, kissed him on the lips shortly.  Ryan beamed, and Brendon took his hand on the way out.  Once they were in the car, Ryan pulled Brendon in closer to deepen the kiss.  They stayed there in the parking lot for a few moments, just kissing and relearning each other’s lips, though they never really forgot any of it.

 

Upon arriving home, Ryan realized he had to go back to Alex’s place to move out his belongings.  Brendon, with his arms around Ryan's neck, asked why, what was the point, when most of his things were still at home.  Ryan rested his forehead against Brendon's and said, “I've gotta pick up my meds.”

 

“You've been taking them?” Brendon asked, massaging the back of Ryan's neck.

 

“Yeah.  I knew you were right.”  Ryan caught Brendon's lips between his again.

 

They stayed there for what felt like hours, swaying to the sound of silence and the other’s breathing.  Brendon could feel the metal of Ryan's wedding ring on his back, from how Ryan had his fingers wrapped around his waist.  He twisted one of the longer strands of Ryan's hair around his fingers and said, “Happy anniversary, love.”

 

“Happy anniversary, B.”  Brendon tucked his face in Ryan's shoulder and thought about how many more there were to come.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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